


Simple Mistakes

by MulticoloredRose



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Gen, Inquisitor Sided with Templars, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-13 03:11:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14740938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MulticoloredRose/pseuds/MulticoloredRose
Summary: The Iron Bull has been tasked with joining the Inquistion and getting close to the people in charge. However, an accident on the way to the Storm Coast has Bull meeting with a very strange Tevinter mage.





	Simple Mistakes

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So this was just an idea I had about Dorian and Bull meeting before the Inquisition pulls them together. Enjoy.

It wasn’t often that he made mistakes. Sure, it was unavoidable in his current line of work, too many outside variables that no matter how good your Intel is there will always be a level of unknown in each mission. It was just the simple fact of doing business, sometimes mistakes would be made. He did pride himself on the fact that it was only ever simple mistakes, something done in the middle of battle that turned the outcome into something a little less ideal – like losing an eye or the repeated damage to his knees or hands – instead of something larger. Larger mistakes in and of themselves took time to occur. They took effort and required foolish decisions on his part, something that he just didn’t do. Krem and the Chargers could attest to that, and so could anyone else who had ever hired them to handle a problem for them.

Although he figures that he’s always known that it’d be a simple mistake that’d undo him someday. A stray attack or – as in this case – a misstep when avoiding a crazy mage’s suicidal last stand.

Reports started coming in a month or so ago about strange activity from Tevinter mages who had come down to the south, and the explosion at the Conclave seemed far too convenient for his tastes. The giant magical tear in the sky sort of screamed Tevinter as well, and the Ben-Hassrath were quick to agree with him. He’d just received orders to make contact with the new kids in the playground, this Inquisition, and to cozy up to them. He figured he’d kill two birds with one stone, he’d kill a few more Tevinter blood mages and he’d have this ‘Herald of Andraste’ come and see him do it. It’d undoubtedly would get them hired, and the rest would be just a simple game of cat and mouse with their red-headed spymaster.

He was looking forward to that.

The plan had been easy enough, and he’d already informed Krem that he’d be sending him away to offer their services to the Inquisition when they got closer to the Storm Coast. Enough of a distance away that it wouldn’t seem intentional and yet close enough to warrant the Herald coming themselves without much difficulty.

The fault line in the cliff’s edge though had been unexpected.

The mage lashed out with that look that their kind always did – the whole ‘I’ll go down but I’ll take all of you with me, my death will have _meaning_ ’ bullshit – and the split second that Bull realized what was happening it had been too late to do anything but grab Dalish and hurl her to safety as the ground fell out from underneath him. He had a pointless final thought, something a lot more sentimental than the Qun should have allowed for. He hoped that the Chargers would be okay.

It was immediately followed by a sort of fond pride towards his small group. They were Chargers. He had trained them and he had trained them well. They’d be fine. They knew exactly what was to happen if Bull ever fell in battle and the line of succession was simple, Krem would take over and he’d head over to the Inquisition still to offer their services. They’d do great, he was sure of it. They’d look after each other.

The darkness and the cold weren’t kind enough to take him down the first time, and he struggled with the feeling of drowning and dying over and over again in a body that’s natural response was to fight back and survive. There were brief moments of lucidity that came in with the darkness and when it finally started to take him under, when he finally thought that this would be the final time he’d be in the realm of the living, he heard a voice he didn’t recognize.

 _“Oh for the love of…”_ Movement, someone dragging him out of the water. Not well, one of the times the person dropped him took him under again until he heard the same voice speaking through the haze. _“Fasta Vass. Why do you need to be this large? Stop swatting at me you oaf, I’m trying to help you.”_ The curse phrase settled in his mind as the warning it was before it all went dark again.

He opens his eye finally for the first time an indeterminate amount of time later. He has no grasp of how long, days? Hours? And he sees the termite eaten walls of a shack all around him. It looks like it might have been a small shed, something used a long time ago before disuse took away a lot of its original purpose and nature started to claim it. He’s lying on the ground, a small blanket thrown over him which is far too thin for the kind of weather that the area is notorious for. The original user has clearly come from warmer climates if this is what they had on hand – Tevinter does tend to run hotter than the south – and it’s clear that they either haven’t taken the time to replace it or they’re using it as a kind of throwaway cover.

He’s figuring that it might be the second when he sees the bandages that cover his arm and his chest. His head also feels like someone with a grudge tried to yank out one of his horns and almost succeeded.

There’s the sounds of someone approaching the shed and he quickly closes his eye and resumes a deeper breathing pattern that will make the other believe that he is still completely unconscious. It wouldn’t do Bull any favors to reveal his hand so quickly to his enemy. He’s already run over a few ideas as to why a Tevinter would ‘assist’ him and almost all of them come back to: information wanted, blood for some ritual, or a new qunari pet slave. Unfortunately for whoever this was, it was not going to play out that way.

He hears the person – man most likely going from his stride and his weight, perhaps the person who spoke to him earlier or someone working with him – come into the shed and put down something heavy judging by the thump of it. A bag perhaps? Filled with what he couldn’t guess at this stage and didn’t like to. He waits in stillness when they come over to him, and he stores away the obviously artificial, rich dark scent of the man. It’s rather pleasant if he were honest, since most humans smelled more like pig fat and he’d rather not have his stomach rumble while he was playing dead.

Years of training keep him from reacting when the man finally touches him, his hands sliding over the bandages on his chest to determine the state of the wounds before reaching up and doing a similar check on the ones on his shoulder and his legs. The soft, almost exceedingly careful touches to his head in obvious concern to his comfort and health has him determining that if he has to kill this man, he’ll do it quickly and without pain.

A kindness for a kindness.

A male voice hums in approval to whatever he sees as he backs away from him and Bull hears him start to dig through the bag. The sound of a knife being pulled out of its sheath has him ready for anything, but it’s quickly pushed aside when he hears the sounds of cutting and the smell of something fruity.

 _“Shall we pick back up where we left off?”_ The same voice from before asks him and Bull wonders what he means when he hears the sounds of pages being turned. _“Ah, here we were.”_ He clearly takes a bite of something and waits to finish before he continues. _“While some of my contemporaries dispute whether the Fifth Blight was a true Blight or merely a large darkspawn resurgence, historians agree that it began in the swamps of the Korcari Wilds on the southeastern border of Ferelden in the year 9:30 Dragon.”_ His voice is soothing in a way, and he seems to be unconcerned that a potentially dangerous and unbound qunari could awake at any moment to cause him problems. _“Darkspawn overran the defenders of Ostagar and decimated the king and his army. They continued their advance into Ferelden unopposed. Only two Grey Wardens managed to escape the slaughter. And somehow, they came into possession of ancient treaties, which compelled the races of men to join arms against the massing horde.”_ He makes a small noise of disgust as he takes another bite. _“Now that’s just pure foolishness. ‘Oh yes, the darkspawn are currently amassing a huge army and are killing hundreds and hundreds of innocent bystanders, but please feel free to not get involved until some kind of ancient treaty demands that you do’. I swear I will never understand some people. ‘Let’s just ignore this until it’s at our front door, what do we care if everyone else gets slaughtered? That’s not our problem’. Vishante Kaffas.”_ The man continues on in that manner, munching away and reading portions of the book in his hands before giving some kind of commentary on it. It almost makes Bull want to chuckle sometimes at the random things the man says, but eventually the smooth voice lulls him back into the grasp of slumber.

He wakes up again to the cold coming in through the warped wood boards and he slowly cracks open his eye to see what’s going on. He can hear the soft breathing nearby and he turns to get a glimpse at the Tevinter who has been aiding him during this time. The first thing he notices is the mage staff against the wall – blood mage, great – and the second thing he notices is how small the other man has curled himself up in his sleep. Bull had assumed that the blanket he’d been given had been a throwaway, but he can’t help the frown when he sees the man clearly suffering from the cooler weather and only with a robe thrown over him for warmth.

Why would he give his only blanket to a qunari that he fished out of the water? In what world did _that_ make sense?

It’s also clear that it’s only the two of them, there are no other mages waiting outside with the embers of the small fire cold between them. He’s not like Krem, that much is obvious looking at him. He’s got the angled, perfect features that just screams of the meticulous breeding of mages that the Tevinter nobles get off on and that answers the question about who would wear scented oils in the middle of nowhere. Although Bull has to admit that his earlier assumptions about the situation don’t seem to hold up water anymore.

If he needed blood for one of his rituals, he would have taken it by now. If he wanted a qunari slave, he wouldn’t have given over his only blanket in an attempt to make Bull more comfortable. The only other option was information, but with how lax the mage was being in handling Bull told him that either this mage had never dealt with a real qunari before, or he didn’t realize what kind of qunari he had in the shack with him. Perhaps he thought Tal-Vashoth, perhaps he thought something different, but nothing that spoke of a long and arduous torture session coming Bull’s way for random information about the Qun’s generals.

_What’s your game pretty little mage?_

As if he spoke aloud, Bull hears the breathing of the other man shift as he wakes up and Bull figures that he’s well enough to fight if he has to, but still damaged enough that this man will underestimate him when it comes to that. Bull watches as the realization that he’s being watched registers to the mage and it’s a little amusing how quickly he sits up, his hand reaching for his staff.

“You’re awake.” He says to him and Bull doesn’t reply. “…you are awake yes? Not just a creepy thing you do in your sleep where you suddenly open your eye and just stare into the void?” Bull gives him a look that shows he’s clearly focusing on him and the other man nods, mostly to himself. “Right then, I suppose this calls an end to our very short acquaintance.” He reaches alongside himself, wisely keeping an eye on Bull as he does before he pulls out several small vials of potion. “Now that you’re not in danger of choking to death if I were to try and administer these…” He slowly slides them out towards Bull. “I guess I’ll be on my way…a little earlier in the day than I had originally desired, but you know what they say. Early to rise and all that other such nonsense.” Bull slowly sits up, faking the strain that it takes to do so as he reaches out for the potions. He doesn’t miss how the grip that the mage has on his staff tightens when he uncorks the first one and tosses it back. Smart.

The man grabs his bag and slowly stands, moving carefully towards the door as if he’s just now realized the dangerous predator who is in the shed with him and is trying to avoid spooking Bull into action, or from spurring him into violence. “You’ll be alright then, best of luck. Try not to drown anytime soon and undo all of my hard work.”

“Why?” Bull asks after he’s taken the second vial and the man pauses. It’s clear that he almost says ‘why what?’ but he determines not to play dumb to the question that Bull is asking.

“Why not?” He says in response. “You needed help. Despite my less than stellar view of the world most days, I would hope that if some poor fool saw me floating down the river that they’d fish me out and offer what aid they could.”

“So that’s it?”

“Does it need to be anything else?” He asks, tilting his head slightly. “I guess I hope that you take a second thought before you go swimming next time, but alas the heart wants what the heart wants. So if you’re dead set and determined to go frolic in the spring again, I hope you don’t do your best dead man’s float impression when you do it.” He motions to the potions. “I hope that will be enough to get you on your feet. I regretfully don’t have any more to offer, so it’ll have to do. Farewell and best of luck in all future – hopefully non mage killing – endeavors.” With that, the man ducks out of the shed and Bull can hear his steady gait taking him quickly away from the quickly healing qunari warrior. Bull sits there for a moment before he looks down at the blanket still covering him and he shakes his head.

He’s been through weirder shit before, but he has to admit that this is certainly up on the top ten list of ‘what the fuck?’ events that have occurred in his life.

He gives the mage plenty of time to get as far away from the shed as possible before he stands and tugs off the bandages. There are a few tender spots still but nothing that he can’t handle as he makes his way to the location that the Chargers should be heading towards.

He’ll have to tell Krem about the Vint mage who saved his life. Krem would get a good laugh out of that, even if he didn’t believe him.

He figures that it’ll just be one of those strange meetings and that he’ll never see that mage again when he finally catches up with his team and they continue forth on the plan to join the Inquisition. He doesn’t spare much thought to the strange mage when they join the Inquisition forces at Haven, and he doesn’t think about him when the Breach closes and the warning bells get tolled in the after party.

“Cullen?” Cassandra asks as they approach and the Commander turns to her.

“One watch guard reporting. It’s a massive force, the bulk over the mountain.” He says as the Herald and Josephine glance at the gates.

“Under what banner?” The diplomat asks and the Commander shakes his head.

“None.” He replies.

“None?” The Ambassador doesn’t even try to hide her surprise and Bull figures that a fight is coming their way. Whatever force tried to capture and corrupt the Templars was undoubtedly showing their hand to them, undoubtedly in retribution to the Herald and the Inquisition’s interference in their plans.

There are some quick sounds of fighting and the flash of fire magic on the other side of the gates for a brief moment and Bull stands with everyone else when the knocks come at the door.

“If someone could open this, I’d appreciate it.” A slightly strained voice calls through the wood and it rings familiar with Bull, taking a few moments before pulling up memories of a mages incredulous commentary on Blight history as the Inquisitor strides forward and opens the gates to reveal the last person that Bull ever thought he’d cross again, the Vint from the forest.

 _Well it’s a small world after all._ Bull thinks to himself as he stays out of view and preps the Chargers for the fight. _This is going to be interesting._

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment!


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